


Phosphene

by rayongrilledcheese



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 12:07:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2191212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayongrilledcheese/pseuds/rayongrilledcheese
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jehan stared down at the page longing for it to resurrect any one of his thoughts, to let the cloud of melancholy that had been building up indifferently for the past couple of weeks, to be released so that he could be free to claim some of his mentality for himself again. Jehan hated when he got like this, his whole mind taking a downturn until all he could do was stare at the blinding whiteness of the paper in front of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phosphene

Jehan stared down at the page longing for it to resurrect any one of his thoughts, to let the cloud of melancholy that had been building up indifferently for the past couple of weeks to be released so that he could be free to claim some of his mentality for himself again. Jehan hated when he got like this, his whole mind taking a downturn until all he could do was stare at the blinding whiteness of the paper in front of him.

He knew that if he called Grantaire he could be here in a second, ready to soothe and comfort until it pasted, ready to watch any number of pretentious arty films with him, while simultaneously making them both plentiful amounts of fruity tea until it came out of their ears and the smell of bountiful fruits hung in the air cushioning them inwards together as they snuggled on Jehan's old moth-eaten sofa, covered in a number of throws. The idea of it all was making Jehan's hand itch to pick up his phone which was lying directly next to the mocking piece of paper, but he knew he couldn't. Grantaire had enough of his own problems, if he thought he had to worry about Jehan again it might tip him of the edge and he was doing so well. Three months of sobriety completely down the drain just because Jehan was too pathetic to put any words on a piece of paper.

He had promised himself this summer to write, to write freely and as he pleased. To write about the trivial moments of his life that passed by, to make them important to himself using his words; to capture it all. But instead for the past five weeks he'd lay around, his head pounding with unsolved mysteries that he had allowed to concave any inspiration he should have had.

He didn't notice the tears, until one dropped off the end of his nose, leaving a splash that opened up over the paper. It could crinkle later when it had dried up, but Jehan couldn't manage to think of having to endure himself like this for another minute, never-mind long enough to get his head clear so his words once again could pour out of him.

“This is ridiculous” he mumbled to himself, rubbing his hands aggressively over his eyes and then grounding them in, hoping this would allow him to feel a little less empty. “You're meant to be better. You're meant to be fine.” he told himself as the light created by the phosphine danced behind his eyes.

Suddenly a knock came from the front door, making Jehan freeze. He had no idea who it could be and quite frankly he was a complete mess. His hair hadn't been washed in the last couple of days and he couldn't even remember when he had tied it up into a collapsed bundle on top of his in a futile attempt to clear his mind, but he knew it had been like that for a while. He lifted his hands from his eyes, embracing the sting that came with the fresh first wave of light to hit him, using the prickling burn to figure out his next step.

Knowing that really he ought to open the door and let whoever was outside in, rather than hiding away, he twisted himself around in the chair ready to stand up and walk over to the doorway, away from the desk he had inhabited for the past four hours without any results, when the sound of a yell come from behind it.

“Jehan?” the voice called, “are you in there?”

Oh god. He groaned interiorly. That stupid stupid voice. That came along with that stupid dark curly hair and those stupid green eyes that opened up a departure for Jehan, to a forest he knew he could never truly begin to be able to explore, away from the crumbling walls he had to walk through everyday locked up in this city of concrete. Courfeyrac, the most charming man he knew, a literal walking bubbling ray of sunshine; he didn't stand a chance.

Jehan got up bracing himself ready to open the door and let Courfeyrac in.

As soon as he opened the door Jehan was greeted with a huge grin quickly followed by a “Jehan! You're in, hi.”

Jehan felt so confused. Every thought that he had managed to conquer up on his walk towards the doorway was blown away from his mind, just like them shitty post it notes he always buys for pennies at the cheap stationary shop in town, and uses to jot down his ideas that can sometimes come so fast and leave to early, meaning he most capture them abruptly before they turn into dust. The cheap stickiness of them meaning that they always end up upon his floor, rather than where he wanted them to be, hiding them from his sight until his flat gets into such a state he eventually has no choice but to tidy up (or face the wrath of Musichetta, he'll never forget the time she popped round for a cup of tea and left five hours later taking ten bags worth of what Jehan likes to call memoires, but what she likes to call rubbish, with her).

“Oh what are you doing here?” he replied, his voice sounds so ragged making him cringed inwardly, what the hell most Courf think of him?

Courfeyrac eyes slowly widened, “Are you okay?” he said.

Jehan watched those perfect eyelashes blink hastily, as if Courf was scared that if he kept them closed for too long, Jehan could disappear from in front of him.

“Oh yeah, I'm fine.” he said.

“No offence Jehan, but you don't look fine, is it okay if I come in?”

“Yes, I guess” he replied, exhibiting with his arms that Courfeyrac should walk in, and then briskly bringing them back up to huddle them around his waist, his bitten nails digging themselves into his pale uncovered arms, his chest being covered by a long frayed vest top that he had sleep in for the past two nights. Jehan was unaware of the tea stain that was stretched over the front of it.

Courf walked in, not letting his eyes leave Jehan.

“How about I make us some tea?” he said, smiling at Jehan. But that's not his normal smile, Jehan thought it's not large enough to show the dimples that grace his right cheek normally, and his eyes look as if they've been conscripted involuntary to join in with the smile. His face is at war with itself, what's wrong with him?

“Okay.” Jehan said, his head tilting to one side, while his eyes narrowed.

As Courfeyrac disappeared into Jehan's tiny kitchen he just stood there, picking on a minute piece of skin that was hanging off underneath his barely there nails. He managed to get a hold of it and pulled it off; a small droplet of blood formed on top of the pinking skin, it looked like blown glass, until it dropped off and ran down his finger. He scrubbed his hands together.

Courfeyrac walked back into the sitting room with two large mugs grasped in his hands. Steam was rising from the top of them.

“Should we sit down, do you think?” he said.

“Yeah, okay.”

They both sat in an eerie silent. Jehan didn't think he had ever been with Courf for so long when he had allowed for it to remain this silent. He thought back to spring, when the air was beginning to become crisp and everything was so fresh, so full of hope just like himself. Grantaire, Eponine and he had all planned a day of escape. A drive to the country, where the flowers were inevitable and streams bubbled, as if they were calling you to them. R had plucked some forget-me-nots, telling Jehan to shush as he scolded him for taking the flowers from the earth where they would thrive, and weaved them into Jehan's bundle of dark strawberry blond hair. After his work was done he had kissed Jehan on the forehead, telling him see you're our very own Persephone and me and Ep are your personal underworld, he had just scoffed and told him they were his everything.

All three of them had all been content in a peaceful sombre quietness that spread itself over the landscape, when Eponine's phone had invaded their unity. It's Courf, she had said, he's going to join us. If that's okay? Grantaire's eyes had immediately found Jehan, who could feel a heated blush diverging itself over his freckled nose and then covering his whole face. Yes, of course it is, he had said, fiddling with the flowers in his hair.

When Courfeyrac arrived, in his second hand much loved azure blue van, the bubble of peace that R, Eponine and Jehan allowed each other in these few and far between moments was shattered, and they had ended their day by all playing a very violent game of “stick in the mud” prompted by Courf.

Back in the present day, Courfeyrac cleared his throat and turned to Jehan, pointing over to the side of Jehan's desk.

“Oh” Jehan said. He had forgotten about that.

“Jehan, I don't want to pry but is that blood on the wall?”

“Well, oh, yeah, hm, it might be.”

“What happened?” Courf said, tilting his whole body to really look at Jehan.

“Well, I was just a tad panicked and I might have kind of clawed at the wall. I had the strange idea that it might help.” he replied, tucking his left hand, his writing one, underneath his thighs.

“Can I have a look at your hand please Jehan” Courf said “I promise I'm not judging, I just want to see if it's okay.”

Jehan head was in so much pain, everything was so loud yet so empty, and he knew really he shouldn't have scratched the wall so much, but he had wanted to feel something. He also knew that really he shouldn't show Courf, that he should look after himself, but at that moment the pounding in his brain just pushed him towards letting Courf look after his hand, looking after all of him, if he would allow it. 

As he pulled it out from underneath his legs, Courf let out a small sigh into the air, it hung around them both until Courf said he was just going to go get some antiseptic and clean Jehan's hand, if that was okay. He had just nodded.

After Courfeyrac had washed his hand he went and cleaned the wall, and then put everything away. He then asked Jehan if it was okay if he stayed a while, Jehan had just nodded again.

When they were both sat down on the couch again, Courf asked him if it was okay if he give him a hug, Jehan had nearly cried with relief and Courf just pulled him closer. He then flicked though the channels, until he found some sitcom they both could watch without having to over think and they sat together watching it. After two episodes had passed, Courf spoke up again.

“Do you want me to ring the doctors in the morning?” Courf said softly, his arm cupped round Jehan as he slowly petted his hair, “I'll come with you if you want.” And then clearly with an emphasised tone “We'll do whatever you want.”

Jehan's head was still screaming at him, but it had numbed a little and the thought of getting help didn't seem so scary or pathetic any more in the hook of Courf's arm, so he let himself say, “Yes please.”

As they both sat there in a new sort of quiet, a comforting one that had broken over the two of them for the first time, Jehan thought maybe just for now he could let himself rely on others to be the brightness he needs at the moment; just until the aspect of his current perspective adjusted and his own eyes were ready again to let the light back in.


End file.
